The Path We Travel On
by MissedTheLastTrainHome
Summary: "Your heart is so beautiful inside, Guinevere, that to me it will never matter what you look like on the outside."


The Path We Travel On

"I got it! I got the job!"

Gwen's high pitched squeals can be heard from the other side of the isolated village, where only a selection of families live. Her family live near the Pendragon family - and thus, she's been best friends with Arthur since they were both tiny, crawling across fields and playparks.

Gwen rushes into Arthur's bedroom (causing him to throw his laptop off his lap carelessly and jump to his feet), her smile brighter than the meticulously set out LED spotlights illuminating the room. Arthur raises an eyebrow and lets a small smile grace his lips as he envelops her in his arms with warm words of congratulations.

He can almost feel her excitement, and for a moment, he looks crestfallen. But he'd never let her see it - with her head securely tucked into his chest, he feigns being pleased for his best friend.

"Are you certain you want to do this?" He asks, hoping to sound nonchalant. He can't help but be protective. Lancelot's given her empty promises for three years about how she could model for his modelling company. _And he messes everyone around, particularly pretty, innocent girls._

"Of course! This is our gap year and we've had it planned since we were fourteen - I've never wanted to do something more."

Gwen smiles at his gesture of protection. Arthur's always looked out for her, and she knows how hard he finds it letting her live on her own in London for four months. _And I know how he can't settle with me "lowering myself" to model for Lancelot du Lac, the fashion guru who apparently "prefers the contents of a woman's underwear compared to the design of them". _

Gwen's face lights up with a smirk as she bounces onto his bed.

"Come on, as if you aren't excited to work for your father's business?" Her sarcastic tone washes the despair out of Arthur, and he laughs wholeheartedly in response to her.

* * *

"You've definitely got everything?"

Gwen nods. She rechecks her leather backpack, possessively clutching onto her train ticket simultaneously, and afterwards, she casts a longing look over her large suitcase.

"I'm certain. And if I haven't, please send me whatever it is and I'll return the gesture with a large crate of milk."

A smile graces Arthur's features at her sweet words. He doesn't want her to leave; he spent 4 hours last night trying to plan a feeling-confessing speech. Of course, he can't remember any of it now. Gwen glances down at her red swatch watch. 14:39. The train leaves in 6 minutes. She gazes up at Arthur, and suddenly throws her arms around his neck. Arthur reciprocates, albeit gradually, letting her scent overwhelm him. She's utterly amazing in every single way.

_Take a deep breath, and do it._

"Guinevere," he begins, grasping for the words as his throat becomes dry. Gwen pulls away, angling her head in anticipation. Confusion takes over her expression as he searches for a way to continue. There's a moment of completely awkward silence, and Arthur sighs, before muttering: "You're going to be great."

There's a flash of disappointment on Gwen's face, but it dissipates quickly as he reaches out and wistfully strokes a curl of hair, moving it off her face.

The tannoy calls for the London train. Guinevere steps away, letting her eyes connect with Arthur's, in the hope that the single gaze conveys everything she feels. Hope. Pain. Anxiety. Confusion. Urgency. Compassion. Friendship. Faith. Love.

* * *

The call came around three months after she'd left for London. Arthur hadn't made out much for her incomprehensible, tearful whispers, but he'd firmly told her that he would be there before 4am.

It was 1am now. But Arthur didn't care, he'd rather travel around the country like something nocturnal than fear for her safety.

He breaks every speed limit on the motorway, and red lights won't stop his crusade. He'd received very few texts from her recently - if she wasn't working out, she'd be having her identity revolutionised for the sake of a glossy photo or two. Her last text to him, from six weeks ago, simply read: "I've dropped three dress sizes. If you aren't Size 2 or under, you don't get paid."

He finally reaches the outskirts of London, so he slides his car into sixth gear and plummets across the city until he reaches his destination. Out of all the places in London, Gwen is renting a very urban flat. He imagined her in a classy apartment, not a beat up bedsit.

He has no idea what she'll be like. Hell, he has no idea what's even wrong with her. _But deep down, his doubts are there - he knows it's a dirty business. _

Arriving at 122 Gingham Place, he takes in the litter-strewn staircases and graffiti frequenting brick walls. Impulsively, he kicks the door in. It only takes three brutal strikes for the hinges to roll open, and Arthur hesitates, momentarily - _what if she's seriously unstable, and he can't help her?_

He pushes the doubts away. Striding in, precariously, the first thing that dawns on him is the state of the place. Three shattered windows. A torn painting. Wooden flooring covered in glass, dirt, and scratches. Smashed wood splinters from what can only be the other half of the remainder of a door, leading into what Arthur hopes is Guinevere's bedroom.

He steps over the carnage, noting a glass coffee table smashed also, and a tiny television that looks like it has no screen. He wonders where the kitchen is - but his mind goes blank when he hears the tiny voice.

_Her voice._

"Arthur?"

It resonates, somehow. It takes Arthur all of his time not to cry at how fragile she sounds. He needs to be strong for her, however - she's the girl he has loved for nearly all of his life his best friend.

The voice comes from the bedroom. He steps over the glass, avoiding scratching his steel-coloured work boots but making steady progress to the said room. The door pushes open easily, and Arthur's eyes land wildly on her.

"Oh my...Guinevere, Guinevere, Guinevere..." Arthur states, shock affecting his ability to form a sentence. The figure he admired is gone, replaced by a set of bones surrounded with sallow, malnourished skin. There's long, bloody cuts along her face and arms. He's not sure if whoever roughed up her apartment caused them, or whether she did herself. Her face emerges, tentatively, from where it had been buried within her knees. Her eyes are dead - bloodshot replaces the honeyed brown. Her prominent cheekbones are now too prominent...worryingly prominent. She's dressed in a white, thin playsuit, which leaves little to the imagination. Once upon a time, it would have excited Arthur. Now, it scares him. How thin is she going to be?

His body is suddenly by her side. She stares at him painfully, and whimpers:

"Please take me home."

* * *

He carried her to the car. She was too weak to dispute it, and Arthur almost enjoyed her clinging on to him. Almost.

Now, she lies beside him. Neatly tucked into the passenger seat, Arthur cranks up the air conditioning so that she's warm. He's no doctor, but in this case, he doesn't need to be. A blind man could notice that she is anorexic. Or bulimic. He dreads to think what that bastard has made her into.

_Lance. Lance the dream maker. The miracle worker. _

He'd promised her everything, Arthur remembers. For weeks, Lance had begged her to join his company for modelling. Guinevere wanted to be a lawyer for years, and this didn't seem up her street - however, she'd relented after viewing it as a fun experience in the workplace, and signed up.

Arthur sighs. He glances over at her as she clutches her backpack.

"What did he do?" He asks, simply. His voice is low, and he hopes the anger is masked by his gentle approach.

Guinevere shakes her head rapidly.

"I can't, Arthur, I can't think about what..."

"Gwen." The short, blunt pronounciation of her name makes her bite her tongue. She inhales. She hasn't told anyone what Lancelot said to her. How he belittled her and hurt her. How he made her feel so insecure. _What if Arthur hates me when I tell him?_

She gazes out of the car window into the night London sky, before letting her gaze fall onto Arthur. He doesn't even look tired, and he looks more beautiful than ever. He pushes the accelerator down and lets the car speed up steadily, guiding it with his muscular arms.

"He wanted me to tone up at first, which wasn't an issue. Then he told me to diet. Then he stopped me from eating. I craved a milkshake one day, and one of his workers saw me. I saw it in his eyes, Arthur, the rage. He wanted to...rape me, and I can't tell you how thankful I am that he didn't. Until I was fully anorexic, he refused to photograph me, and kept threatening to rape me. I felt violated, so I stopped going and hid away in my flat, which he broke into and dragged me out. He's so possessive and arrogant that I started to do things just to get on his nerves..."

The way Gwen pours her heart out to him, the way she stammers and becomes terrified as she speaks...Arthur finds it hard to listen to her. He needs her to explain to him what she's gone through, but such an ordeal was not expected. His best friend, the sweetest, most fantastic girl he's ever met, and an untrustworthy bastard has done this to her. Made her life hell. He feels himself grow hotter and angrier.

"And this Lancelot, I assume he broke into your house?"

Gwen nods, tears springing to her eyes. Arthur looks infuriated, and it scares her. The past three months have been filled with angry men.

"They stole all of my money, all of my clothes. They smashed the flat up and I tried to hide, but they found me, obviously." She gestures to the dried blood on her face. Arthur slides the car into a higher gear as they cruise down the M25. He is silent. Gwen shivers with cold, and glances up again nervously to Arthur's face. "Please don't be angry with me."

Arthur really wants to cry. He's a man, a strong one at that, but those six words render him overcome with emotion. _She thinks I'm like them. Because I let her suffer. She thinks I could be angry with her. How could I ever be angry with her?_

He takes a second to focus, and not let his resolve break. He then, on impulse, takes a turn of the motorway into a small service station, and parks his car briskly. He turns to her, making full eye contact with her.

"Guinevere," he starts, "I am so sorry."

With that, his arms extend towards her, and she trembles into his embrace. It's slightly awkward due to the gearstick and controls between them, so Arthur shifts across the centre of the car until they are both in the passenger seat. He keeps his arms wrapped tightly around her, and it's not long before she is sobbing her heart out, her anguish evident as she fists his shirt. Arthur doesn't even try to stop her crying - he knows she needs this release, so he mumbles something along the lines of "You're safe, Guinevere, they won't hurt you again".

* * *

Of course, they do hurt her again. Not physically, but mentally. Her nightmares plague her for weeks, and conveniently, her parents have gone travelling while she's been in London. They have no idea of the struggle she has faced. It's up to Arthur to save her from them, and each night he pulls her into his arms and promises her that it's not real.

However, that's only the start of her problems. She's bulimic, and anorexic. She insists that she can fix herself, but Arthur doesn't believe her, sadly. Three consultants and numerous refusals of food, he finally gets her to eat (albeit it's only a slice of his mother's coffee cake). She has no other friends now, apart from Arthur - who has had to deal with the annoying crowd from their high school days persistently asking if Gwen really is bulimic. He doesn't care what they think of her, so he informs them that, yes, she is bulimic, but that doesn't change who she is.

Gwen tries to get Arthur to go back to his work - doing finances for his father's business in Hertfordshire. It's not too far from their countryside estate, but he feels uneasy leaving her. Especially as, one day, he returns to the sound of her emptying her stomach. However, as time passes, Gwen starts to eat more, and a month after her return, Arthur walks in to find her cooking pasta. He hugs her from behind, shocking her so she drops her wooden spoon into the pan.

"You're back early!" She exclaims. He smiles against her neck, and before he realises it, he's kissing the flawless skin. She tenses momentarily, and he stops.

"I...I'm sorry, Guinevere, I wasn't -"

Gwen spins in his arms, and with all the strength she can muster, kisses him fully on the lips. She's waited almost all of her existence for this. He responds quickly, his hands roving across the narrow plane of her back as their lips battle for dominance. He can't express how much he wants this moment to go on forever, and he watches her close her eyes in blissful happiness.

* * *

Now a healthy size 6, Guinevere dresses in a peach-coloured dress, which is a skater style. She zips it up at the side and fits her feet into a pair of black pixie boots, with a small heel. Running a hand through her untamed curls, she re-reads the text Arthur sent her earlier.

"Meet you at Jubilee Field, 7pm? A x"

Clavering is where they're currently renting a place. It's close to Hertfordshire, where they both work for Arthur's father - Arthur training to be CEO, and Gwen working in the Law and Press department. It's a beautiful parish village, and they both love it. There's no one to make Gwen feel insecure, so together they've built a life here. It's peaceful, and sweet. They go running every Thursday and go for long Sunday afrternoon walks. A simple life for two.

She takes the small walk to Jubilee Field, which is Clavering's pride - the stretch of lush grass with the fairy-light lit bandstand is simply beautiful. And that's when Gwen realises - _there has never been fairy lights on the bandstand before._

Approaching it carefully, trying not to cake her heels with mud, she spots the defined silhouette of her beloved boyfriend. He wears a white, button-down shirt, and tight-fitting, navy jeans. He spins when he sees her arrive, and takes her hand gallantly.

"This looks stunning. Did you put these lights up?" Guinevere asks, and a small smile reaches the corners of Arthur's mouth. He nods, and lets go of her hand. Gwen turns to take hold of it again, and gasps.

He kneels before her, with a ring.

"Your heart is so beautiful inside, Guinevere, that to me it will never matter what you look like on the outside. I've known you since I was 18 months old. 20 long years have built up to this moment: will you marry me?"

Their kiss is pure ambrosia.

"Yes, of course."

* * *

Thanks for reading - please review, as you guys always do! I've had several nightmares preventing me from accessing Fanfiction in the past few months, but I now have a new laptop so I'm almost finished Wimbledon and I am writing new one shots. As for Adore, I lost all of the drabbles I wrote, so it's on hiatus - sorry!


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